


The Deer Hunter

by QueenPotatos



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, M/M, Medieval Fantasy, Mononoke Hime like, This has nothing to do with vietnam lol, War, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26532994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenPotatos/pseuds/QueenPotatos
Summary: Dimitri lost everything the night his uncle betrayed him and set the castle of Fhirdiad ablaze. He was unexpectedly saved by a stranger, who would soon meet his path again as the Prince planned to take back the throne, helped by his most loyal friends. There's an old legend that crossed time and miles, about a God who took the form of a deer hiding in the foreign lands of Derdriu, and which head was said to grant infinite power. It was everything Dimitri needed to achieve his revenge and after he recovered from his severe wounds, he had only one goal in mind. But the locals said their God was clever and almost impossible to see, especially when people were looking for Him with sinister intent.Claude von Riegan was the best Deer Hunter around. It also turned out he knew the forest of Derdriu like the back of his hands.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I probably shouldn't do that

* * *

Dimitri could only smell ashes and taste blood from his lips and inside of his throat as a lance that had once been his, bearing his own crest, pierced through his back. He fought bravely but had to admit his opponent’s strength, and Cornelia managed to surprise him superbly, in a way he wished she hadn’t. Who could have thought she had this much darkness hidden behind her benevolent smile, so much hate, to set the castle ablaze the day of the late King’s funeral? They left him for death and never looked back, thinking that if by any chance or miracle at his point the crown Prince would survive his wound, their arson would end his life for sure. They exposed his supposed corpse in the throne room, his cape soaked in a pool of his own blood. He probably lost consciousness at some point but now, Dimitri smelt it, embers and fire, he tasted blood and rage and ire and it meant he lived, barely, but that would suffice for now.

He’d kill them. All of them. All who betrayed them - Cornelia, Rufus, his own flesh and blood. He’d kill all the friends he had who took part in this massacre.

Dimitri got on his feet, the bloody lance stuck in his back, glowing orange like the embers he walked on, and exited the throne room. The roof was on fire, part of it crumbled and literally threatened to end his life here, but it was as if his steps were guided by Fate, the debris fell but avoided his sinister silhouette. Yet, his cape sweeping the floor caught fire as now the entirety to the Castle, where Dimitri spent his early years. All his childhood memories turned into dust before his twentieth birthday, so soon after his father passed. His uncle’s betrayal hurt him more than any blade tearing his flesh apart could have, no matter how sharp they were.

The flames gained the rest of his uniform, one of protocol he wisely chose to pay his father his last regard, but which turned out to be utterly impracticable in any other circumstances. “Ah!!” he yelled in the emptiness, more from wrath than pain; only the crackling of the fire replied to his ire, everyone, every valley, housekeeper, cook, even the children were dead. “AHHH !!” he roared, taking the lance off of his back with inhuman strength.

Any man would have died at this moment, of pain, of lack of blood, of despair and sorrow. But not him, not Dimitri.

All that should have brought him closer to his demise made him stronger. The flames burnt his back and cauterized the wound. He got out of the castle by a secret door leading to the moat and threw himself in the cold water to extinguish the flames that ravaged his weakened body. The lance that was supposed to kill him helped him get out of the moat and served as the crutch when he gained solid ground and his steps were unsteady. He roared again, his eyes fixated on something invisible in front of him, a goal, an objective that would keep him alive better than any white magic - a force, an inflexible need for revenge. His mind had been lost in the fire, his sanity reduced to ashes. “I’ll kill you!” His words tasted of venom, a sweet promise of death. “I’ll kill you all!!” He stumbled once or twice as he walked aimlessly, randomly into the forest that surrounded the castle, and which he knew by heart, where he could easily lose his pursuers if they were any. 

An unlucky soldier, a deserter passed by, running away from Rufus’s men certainly thinking his allegiance to Lambert, the late King would have him killed before sunset. On top of being tormented by the recent atrocious events and fearing for his and his family’s lives, the renegade ran unto his Prince’s dead walking body - but did he recognize him? Of course not. Dimitri had his skin covered with soot, the right of his face red with blood, smoke escaping from his back; he looked like a monster that walked directly out of Hell.

Their eyes met for a second, perhaps two. Then Dimitri groaned and the man rushed back to where he came from, seeing in this meeting a bad omen and the immediate sentence for his betrayal.

Dimitri watched the man go and disappeared into the forest.

*

It wasn’t often that Claude wandered in the Forest of Fhirdiad and its castle - the lands belonged to the King after all, and he fancied hunting more time than not - but the scent of burn and death told him something terribly wrong had occurred in this once forbidden territory and Claude, pushed by his ill curiosity more than his sense of justice and duty decided to exceptionally peek a glance in the forest, just enough to satisfy his thirst of novelty, and go back the minute he’d found all the answered he sought for.

Little did he know that this burst of curiosity would eventually, after numerous twists and turns, caused his dramatic fall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude approached him prudently. Blond locks shone even in the darkness of the canopy, under the many leaves that hadn’t burnt. He was about to brush them away from the dead man's forehead to reveal his face before pursuing his excursion, when the most impossible thing happened.
> 
> The corpse opened an eye. It was blue and fierce, and so much alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may know, there's a lot of events ongoing in the fandom, plus my personal life has been quite chaotic these past few weeks. Thus, this fic is a consolation of some sort, and will be update as I feel like it, and I cannot assure you any consistency.  
> i still hope you'll enjoy it

* * *

The forest of Fhirdiad had always excited Claude’s curiosity. Of 1500 hectares, it was as big as the town itself, but most certainly lacked the charm of the Forest of Derdriu where he came from. Unfortunately for Claude, the fire that broke into the castle, situated just in the middle of the forest, devastated half the centuries old oaks and the fauna, thus making it impossible to decide which was the prettiest. 

He advanced nonetheless, concerned for the animals living in the forest as well as men that chose to settle nearby. Considering the King’s passing a couple of days ago, either the blaze was not accidental or Fate definitely had a really twisted sense of humour, especially toward the Royal family. The whole thing smelt of mystery and schemes, a mixture Claude was definitely weak for.

He trotted until he couldn’t recognize the place at all and advanced prudently from then, analysing every nose, anything he could smell apart from the smoke, searching through the ground he walked on and the sky above. Apart from some birds, singing shyly, like after a violent storm, nothing felt out of the ordinary except perhaps for the tenacious smell of carbonized flesh, which Claude feared he had a couple of explanations for its presence among them.

Indeed, the scent led him to a man lying on his stomach, his body covered with a half burnt uniform that betrayed his rank - the poor man must had been part of nobility or, no, something even greater than that - next to who a pack of wolves was bickering about which one of them was to tear the flesh first, and was about to start their dinner. Claude arrived just in time for the feast and upon his arrival the wolves yelped and escaped through the trees, leaving behind a corpse, still, but at least with four remaining limbs and a semblance of dignity.

Claude approached him prudently. Blond locks shone even in the darkness of the canopy, under the many leaves that hadn’t burnt. He was about to brush them away from the dead man's forehead to reveal his face before pursuing his excursion, when the most impossible thing happened.

The corpse opened an eye. It was blue and fierce, and so much alive.

The man groaned. “...Water.” he muttered. 

Flabbergasted more than frightened by this true miracle, Claude took a couple of steps back; the man groaned again, agonising, his eye diverted from Claude to look ahead of him. In his right hand he held a lance Claude barely recognized - Areadbhar, the lance of Kings, but deprived of its glowing aura - while the other stretched onward, as if the man was trying to catch something that kept running from his grip.

“I’ll kill them all.” he groaned, “Father, I’ll have our revenge…”

It was then easy to put two and two together; Claude stood in front of none but Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, crown prince of the Kingdom of Faerghus, left for dead in the arson that took his home down three long days ago. “Impossible, how can you still be alive?” Claude rushed to him, his hands cupping his face to evaluate the damages. The prince let him do as if he could not see him, or feel his thumbs on his cheek. “Where have you been all this time?”

The presence of the Prince here could perhaps explain why troops, still loyal to Lambert, were still hunting the area. Claude saw an entire squadron wearing the late King’s emblems on their shield and helmets, and judging by the thickness of their clothes they could only come North. Claude could only guess their disappointment when, after riding for days to be in time for the funeral, they were welcomed with a burning castle - he guessed the majority of them regretted having let Rufus handle the incineration. Upon them he thought he recognized Lord Fraldarius and Lord Gautier, two of the most loyal knights; handing them Dimitri sounded like a good plan, the best chance in fact for the crown Prince to make it back alive, which still required at least a couple of more miracles, for he was in an alarming horrendous state.

Claude took his pulse on his wrist, then at his neck when he couldn’t feel any; it was beating fast. His eyes were dark and he was painting heavily, all the signs of a severe haemorrhage. There was no way to evaluate the damages without taking off his ceremonial clothes.

Hopefully, Claude noticed a little tarn on his way here. He took a deep sigh, and put the man’s arm around his shoulder. “If you could please be of any help.” He whined, god, he was so heavy. Claude managed to get him on his knees when unexpectedly the Prince tried to stand up on his own. “Woh!” Claude held on his waist, he was still unstable and almost fell as his second foot touched the ground. “There, let me help you.”

Claude was mostly glad about the unhoped for help, wondering more than once if the Prince didn’t have demon’s blood running in his veins to be able to provide so much effort after suffering from such severe wounds, and categorically refused to die.

They stumbled once or twice before reaching the tarn. In front of them, a doe and its fawn were enjoying the fresh water. Their arrival startled their peace, the doe looking up to Claude. “Sorry, my friend, but I require your place.” The doe nuzzled its fawn and they bounced out of their view. By that time, the Prince had fallen unconscious against Claude’s back.

He dragged him to the tarn, dropping his massive body in the water when it reached their knees, colouring it with deep red instantaneously. Claude took off his gloves and used them as a cloth; he sat at the edge of the tarn, the back of the Prince’s face against his legs, and washed his forehead first. His eyes were closed, he looked serene, sleeping almost – the only clue that he still lived resided in his regular breathing. The right part of his face had suffered much damage; Claude washed the dried blood, revealing a wound that unfortunately would cost him his eye and sight, but he was nonetheless glad and perhaps even a bit surprised that despite all he had to wash away, it was the only deep cut on his face. Later, he found one on his skull, a part which was known to bleed abundantly – hopefully the bleeding had stopped long ago.

Claude bandaged his eye before he proceeded his examination. He tried to undress the Prince as carefully as possible, yet had no choice but to tear the fabric where it had stuck on the skin. On his back was a cut, deep and mostly infected by now; if not taken care immediately fever would bring him to the world of the dead in a few days only. The rest of his body suffered from no major injury and apart from the marks of crawls left by the wolves a couple of minutes ago, the rest on the Prince’s skin was immaculate once cleaned from the dried blood and soot. Claude concluded his examination with a hint of optimism: in his care, the Prince would live, at least long enough for his friends to find him.

He set a fire, hoping the smoke would attract their curiosity only, “Well, baby Prince,” Claude took his head between his palms, he leaned and kissed his forehead gently, the Prince whined, “I did all in my power to save your life. The rest, and what you’ll do with this gift, is up to you.”

A blue eye, clear, demote of any feeling but bemusement, stared back at him. “Who are you?” He asked.

Claude could only offer him a smile before the Prince zoned off once more.

*

It took them perhaps two hours to find them.

Claude turned around at the first ruffling of leaves, his hand on his dagger, his bow at arm’s reach. The two soldiers who emerged from behind the bushes were perhaps as young and inexperienced as their Prince, but the shorter one had eyes as sharp as the blade he held, and Claude chose wisely not to provoke his wrath.

“Finally!” he spoke to the tall and ginger head rushing behind. “I was starting to think you had abandoned your search.”

“Dimitri!” The first soldier ran to him, his sword back to his hip. The other soldier pointed his lance just under Claude’s chin.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, no one, just a deer hunter.” Claude said idly, as if he wasn’t threatened at all by the blade tickling his neck.

“Felix?” The soldier called, “How is he?”

His companion – Felix, short one, eyes sharp, Claude recalled – replied eventually. “Alive, barely.”

The soldier let out a sigh. “Bless the Goddess.” And he dropped his lance and ran to his friend.

The three of them eventually brought back the Prince to an improvised camp led by Lord Fraldarius and Lord Gautier, who turned out to be the soldiers’ fathers. Claude explained how he found Dimitri half dead a couple of hours ago and saved him while Sylvain – tall, ginger, easy talking but way more difficult to read than the other soldier – told him about the chaotic events surrounding the Royal family; and if for most of it, Claude knew already, he pretended he did not out of politeness; but some details he ignored, and was indeed glad to learn. Felix walked silently before them, his eyes constantly searching for a threat to annihilate on the spot.

“There were some rumours about a demon coming out of the castle on flammes, and which walked in the depth of the woods.” Sylvain told him. It was how they decided to search the area after they arrived, late for the funeral by a day because of how snowed the road had been, but such lateness probably saved the Prince’s life and future - to think he owed his life to something as capricious as the weather. This man was either incredibly lucky or blessed by whoever he believed in. “We all thought it could be him. The Royal family has always been especially difficult to kill.”

“But it seems someone found the trick.” Claude adjusted his arm around the Prince’s waist. “And almost twice.”

“Without you, he’d be dead. I’ll make sure to mention it to our fathers, you need to be rewarded accordingly.”

In front of them, Felix tsked. A sign of distrust.

“What is it Felix? Got something to share with us?”

“You don’t even know who that guy is.” Felix cut the branch of a bush that wasn’t even in his way. “As far as we know, he could be working for that witch, and wait until we reach the camp to stab us in the back.” He looked over his shoulder to Claude, his sword in hands. “I’m only coming along ‘cause I’ll cut you in half before you can move your little finger.”

Claude smiled at the threat; there was, to his knowledge, no better way to irk your opponent, and it worked like wonder on Felix.

“Come on Felix. You know as well as I do that our enemies don’t know we’ve been back, our spies told us so. Besides, just a simple look at his attire tells you he’s not from the Kingdom. What good would he take of this? Money?” Sylvain studied his tunic, but Claude had a feeling he had done so before without him noticing. “He’s more rich than most of us combine.”

Claude sent another cocky smile, hiding his true feelings of underlying danger that crawled under his skin. These men were dangerous if brushed the wrong way, but so was he. “I have to admit I am quite-“

“You didn’t even tell us your name.”

Felix didn’t even spare him a glance as he spoke, probably thinking he wouldn’t meet an answer with words so harsh. From here, Claude heard the foreign murmurs of men and soft clashes of steel against steel, the neighs of horses; they had reached the camp. His journey was almost over.

“I’m Claude von Riegan.” He said, simply. “Lord of the Leicester Alliance. As you have guessed, I have very few business with the Kingdom, and was here merely by a stroke of luck.”

As they approached the gates, the guards alerted their generals of their presence and of who they came back with. Claude got swapped in the joyful mess their return caused and soon he bowed to Lords of the North with Sylvain and Felix, which he already felt were close to inseparable, by his side.

“I have no word that can explain how grateful I am that you brought back Dimitri.” Lord Fralgdarius said, his hand on his heart. He bowed as well. “The Kingdom holds you a great dept, Claude von Riegan. Ask of us anything and your wish would be granted.”

“There’s no need to act this protocolos with me. I’m afraid I just did what anyone would have done in my place, and helped a man who I knew nothing about, not even his origin. I don’t want anything but your consideration in return.” The Kingdom being in his dept was the best counterpart he could gain out of this situation anyway.

“Huph.” Felix muttered under his breath something that was perhaps not of him to hear. “He’s even more suspicious now.”

And Claude chucked, as an unasked for answer.

“May I ask you something?” Lord Gautier asked. Claude nodded hastily. “As providential your presence in the forest of Fhirdiad had been, I cannot help but wonder what brought you here in first place.”

“Oh, I told your son already.” He turned to Sylvain, who stared back at hum bemused, “I’m just a deer hunter. Learning about the King’s passing, I had hoped I could visit the forest that had previously been out of my reach by taking advantage of the attention his funeral would get. Nothing honourable I’m afraid, but my sly purpose, in the end, favoured your cause in a way none of us could have anticipated.” 

“You came here with the clear intention of trespassing?” Claude didn’t have to look back to know Felix had his hand on the hilt of his sword, and was ready - eager even - to honour his promise of slicing him in half at the first misstep.

But his father stopped him with a simple look, and considering none of the Gautier baited an eyelid, Claude concluded it was an usual antic of his new acquaintance, and that he should not feel threatened in the slightest. “It is indeed not such a honourable occupation, but the fact that you confessed so easily is either a proof of profond foolishness, or of a noble heart.”

“I thank you, Lord Fraldarius, but I must insist, I do not merit half the praise you’ve just made on my person. I saved a man who turned out to be His Highness, but I would have taken the same felicity if it had been your enemy. As I told your son before, being from the Alliance, I was here merely by luck, as well as you do; and if I’m sure you’ll think Fate put your Prince in my path, I must assure you that, on my side, it was a nothing but a happy accident.”

“Well, if the matter of reward is over,” Lord Gautier rose from his seat and, looking at his friend on his right, motioned him to do the same, “I will again thank you upon the Kingdom’s nobility, and whoever will rally under our banners. Choosing not to accept them is a matter that only concerns you.”

“Something we both agree on.”

“Is there really nothing we can do for you?” Sylvain asked him, in a tone more gentle than his father used.

Claude turned to him, an idle smile on his face, “Let’s talk about this when you’ll have conquered your Kingdom back, will you?” He said. “You have a war to fight, and I’m afraid what I want is neither in your possession at the moment, nor within your actual capabilities.”

And with little else to share with the Kingdom’s men, for he had no intention of dining with them, and them having probably no time to have a nice chat around a tasty cup of tea, Claude exited the tent he had been led on a couple of minutes ago, only for his arm to get caught by a firm grip.

“I’ll remember your name.”

His eyes stared at Felix’s with the same intensity. Who was he to think he could impress him?

“Thank you.” He replied, not knowing yet if it was a threat or something to be proud of - people from the North were so much different from people in Derdriu.

No other words were shared before he was free to go from the camp. If his little detour hadn’t quite filled his previous agenda, Claude couldn’t say it had been in vain. Perhaps it would calm Hilda’s wrath for some time. Of course she would be mad, he left almost two weeks ago without warning, but what was life without adventures and its lots of twists? In these sombre hours of an incoming conflict, Claude had never felt happier to be alive.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still surprised it's so short, even for a prologue !  
> Find more on my [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/doctor_queenie)!


End file.
